


Breaking Point (The Abort, Retry, Fail Remix)

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Amnesia, Angst, Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mindwiping, Not A Fix-It, Remix, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's a fact about Captain America that the entire world knows now: the last thing he did was commit murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point (The Abort, Retry, Fail Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiyaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Точка разрыва](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120349) by [leoriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoriel/pseuds/leoriel)
  * Inspired by [Hard Reset](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939139) by [Kiyaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/pseuds/Kiyaar). 
  * In response to a prompt by [Kiyaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/pseuds/Kiyaar) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2016) collection. 



> This is a remix of Kiyaar's [Hard Reset](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3939139), because ever since I read it I have been unable to stop wondering what the hell Steve was thinking. You should probably read Hard Reset first. It's an Avengers #29 canon-divergent AU that is really, really not happy.
> 
> This isn't happy, either.
> 
> Some dialogue borrowed from Kiyaar's story as well as Avengers #29.
> 
> Thanks to teaberryblue for beta!

Here's a fact about Captain America that they never tell you in the history books: the first thing he did was commit murder.

Seconds after the Nazi spy shot Professor Erskine, Steve Rogers -- a man born anew, strong, determined, a hero for the ages -- leaped up, jumping higher than any man alive. He broke through the glass that separated the test chamber from the observation area, grabbed the spy by the front of his coat, and flung him down into the test chamber.

When the spy landed, he broke his neck. He died instantly.

To the men behind Project Rebirth, this was at most a minor tragedy -- and that much only because a dead spy couldn't give up the names of his masters. The new Captain America was unused to his new body. He hadn't known his own strength. It had been an accident. And besides, the man had been a Nazi, and therefore he was clearly deserving of whatever harm came to him. Wasn't he?

Steve hadn't meant to do it. It had been an accident. When Steve thought about it, this was what he told himself. There was so much else in his life that this was almost too easy to push aside. He had his new body. There was a war on. He felt guilty -- of course he felt guilty -- but he hadn't meant to do it. It had been an accident. He hadn't meant to, he repeated, and he believed himself somehow absolved.

Eventually Steve stops thinking about it entirely.

* * *

Here's a fact about Captain America that the entire world knows now: the last thing he did was commit murder.

* * *

"You used me," Steve says.

Tony's standing in front of him, bloody and bruised because Steve's already punched him once. Steve can hardly see him. All he can see in his mind are the Illuminati standing over him, the awful dream he's had for months on end, the dream that was never a dream at all.

Tony did this to him.

Tony ordered Stephen Strange to wipe his mind, and then Tony took him home. When Steve woke up in the middle of the night, Tony told him it was just a bad dream. Tony threw his arm over Steve's shoulders and told him about his plan, told him how they'd bring the Avengers together again, bigger and better and finally right.

Tony smiled and kissed him and took him back to bed, just like they used to. Steve fucked him and held him while he fell asleep and told him he loved him, while Tony slept. He told himself one day he'd say it while Tony could hear. He imagined the joy that would be on Tony's face, then. Tony took him to bed the next night, and the next, and the next. He learned Tony's body better than he had ever known anyone's, learned it like he'd learned how to throw his shield or load a gun; he memorized the taste of Tony's mouth and the feel of Tony's fingers interlaced with his and the quiet breathy noises he made before he came.

He thought they were happy. He thought that this was it, that they had come to the end of the journey, the last page of the tragedy. He thought that they had healed. He thought that this was their reward.

He thought Tony trusted him.

Everything was a lie. It had all been a lie, from the beginning.

Tony's probably been laughing at him for months. He's been doing exactly what he wants, knowing that Steve was in the dark. He's been plotting how to murder worlds. He's been getting exactly what he wants. He's been lying to all of them. And, hell, he's been getting laid on the side. He's probably been completely fucking overjoyed.

A normal man, fallen out of love, might have an affair. Tony rips the world apart. Steve doesn't know if Tony ever really loved him, but he knows exactly how much Tony doesn't love him, because he knows what Tony loves more: his technology. A bill before Congress. And now the opinions of five other men, worth so much more than his because he dared to disagree.

He thinks about kissing Tony, about the way Tony smiled at him. None of it was ever real.

Steve's hands are still clenched into fists.

"Yes," Tony says. His chin tilts up, and there's that familiar, arrogant set to his jaw, that knowing lilt to his voice. Tony Stark, genius, better than you. Out of the way, old man. "I suppose I did. And I'd do it again." He pauses, a half-second of silence, like this is a rehearsed speech, an appeal to the audience. The Avengers remain silent. "So what are we going to do about it?"

Steve doesn't even have to think about it. He doesn't think about it.

"Now?" he asks. "Now I'm going to beat you bloody."

In particularly vicious arguments with your loved ones, you want the other person to understand that you feel hurt. You're not thinking. And then you say it. The thing you can't take back. And then you see the pain in their eyes and you know you shouldn't have said it. You know you hurt them, and you realize that you never wanted to hurt them, but you can't take it back.

The problem here is that Steve doesn't fight with his words.

For as long as he lives, Steve is never going to forget the sound of Tony's skull cracking open.

_I didn't mean to_ , he thinks. _It was an accident. I shouldn't have done it._

As he watches the pool of blood spread out under Tony's head, shining dark on the workshop floor, Steve realizes that his intentions weren't ever what mattered.

* * *

He surrenders.

He pleads guilty.

New York has no death penalty. He was expecting life in prison, but apparently it's worth something to have been Captain America once. They strip him of his citizenship. 

He would have killed himself if they'd put him in prison. He's not exactly sure why he doesn't kill himself now. It feels like he's waiting for something.

He hates the cold, so he moves to Canada.

He deserves this, he thinks, as he shivers through the winter. He dreams about the Illuminati, and the ice, and the blood, and the blood, and the blood.

He wakes screaming. He wakes crying. He frightens the neighbors.

He deserves this.

It sounds like something Tony would have said, doesn't it?

* * *

He used to think he was capable of atonement. He used to think, even, that he had atoned.

He and Tony used to fight, but they always made up afterwards. Handshakes. Apologies. Everything was better, right?

The last time he'd been about to murder Tony, he'd surrendered. And he told himself that counted. He'd given himself up to justice. That made it all okay.

Hell, he hadn't even made it to his trial.

When he'd come back to life, Registration was off the table. And he'd been pardoned. He'd never had to face what he'd done. He never stood trial.

He'd apologized at the end of their Vanaheim adventure, and Tony had looked at him, desperate for his forgiveness, because Tony's last memory had been a Steve Rogers who loved him, and he'd known Tony would say anything, would do anything, for love. He'd known that, and he'd used it. He'd made Tony apologize to him, and Tony hadn't even remembered what had happened. They'd hugged.

And somehow he'd thought this had made them better.

The wound festered.

* * *

He has a lot of time to think, these days. He thinks sometimes about going to a domestic violence group. Anger management. That's where you go if you've murdered your lover in a fit of rage, right?

He thinks about what would happen, if he went.

He'd stand up.

Hi, he'd say. Many people would be nervous, doing this sort of thing, but he wouldn't be nervous. He's talked to crowds before. He's talked to heads of state. He's talked to Thanos. 

I'm Steve, he'd say.

Hi, Steve, the room would chorus, and they'd pretend they didn't recognize his face. They'd pretend they didn't already know exactly what he'd done. They'd pretend they hadn't seen the pictures of Captain America being led away from Avengers Tower in handcuffs, with Tony Stark's blood spattered across his uniform and tears on his face. Canadians are nice like that.

And then he'd talk.

Maybe he'd talk about his childhood. Isn't that where these things start? He'd talk about how his father was a drunk, how his father beat his mother, how he used to hide and watch. Some of the men in the room would nod. The cycle of violence. Steve has come across the phrase before.

Maybe he'd talk about how he was a scrawny kid. How he always felt powerless. How the bullies beat him up. Some of the men would probably still be nodding.

Maybe he'd talk about how he joined the Army. How they trained him to fight. How they taught him that there were good guys and bad guys, and that he was on the right side, doing the right thing. That violence was the answer. That violence was what they'd made him for, trained him for. That they had literally shaped him for this. A few of the men might still nod; he thinks Canada has had a few troops overseas. He's not sure about that one.

And then I came back home years later, he'd say. More of them would nod again. They've heard stories like this. Soldiers come home and have trouble leaving the war. They can't get right. They take all their pain out on the ones they love. They're civilians now. They have to learn not to be soldiers. They have to learn that they're not there anymore.

The thing is, that's not Steve's story.

I came home and I learned I was a hero, he'd say. I could not even have conceived of the scope of my fame and glory. I used to worry that the job was an ideal I could never measure up to, because I was only a man. But they told me I was a hero. They told me I fought for liberty and justice. They told me I needed to keep fighting. They told me I was always right. They told me that whatever I believed was right because I believed it. They told me that everything I believed was right. And God help me, I believed them.

I kept fighting, he'd say. I fought for ten more years. My life was an unending war. I saved the Earth. I saved the galaxy. I did it again and again and again and I told myself it was all right to hurt people because I didn't use a gun, because I thought that everyone I hurt deserved it, because if anyone actually died it was my friends who killed them. And my friends smiled and praised me. The world worshipped me. I was their hero, always their hero. I had become a legend. It's very dangerous to become a legend. I could do no wrong, because nothing I did was wrong.

I fell in love, he'd say. I fell in love with a brave, brilliant, wonderful man. This man grew up idolizing me, before he ever knew me. He grew up adoring me. He met me, and he still loved me, and he was the bravest man I knew, because he wasn't ever afraid to tell me when he thought I was wrong. Even when the world was on my side. Even when all our friends were on my side.

This man would tell me I was wrong, he'd say, and I'd hurt him. Because I knew that I could never be wrong.

One day, he'd say, this man told me I was wrong and I killed him.

He's not really sure what the men in the room would make of that. He can't imagine it.

He stays home.

* * *

He realizes he's never really been held accountable for anything, before now. Not in any way that mattered. He was so terrified of the possibility of it that he almost murdered Tony, when Tony tried to make him be accountable. To something. To anything. To something other than his own flawed conscience.

Registration had been meant to stop him from becoming a monster.

He realizes that four years later he finally understands the point of the goddamn SHRA, and he sits alone in his apartment and laughs until he cries. He can't stop crying. He's sobbing -- awful, huge, racking sobs that hurt his chest. He can't breathe. His face is covered in tears and snot.

He finds himself thinking of the day they threw the Avengers that parade, right after that time he lost his shield and got the hard-light shield. Tony had showed up to the parade with massive injuries, of course, upright only by virtue of being in armor. Steve pictures the thousands of people who cheered his name. He wonders what they'd make of him now.

The day after that parade was the first time Tony had wiped his mind.

Steve had forgiven him. Eventually.

Clearly his mercy is not infinite. But he hadn't needed infinite mercy. He'd just needed enough.

He wipes his face off and then sits outside, in the dark, in the bitter cold, and he chain-smokes half a pack of cigarettes.

He wonders how many cigarettes he'll smoke in the rest of his life. It's as good a measurement as anything else.

* * *

He likes to play a game, sometimes. Well, he hates to play this game, but he's-- he used to be an Avenger. It's necessary. He has to consider all possibilities. Sometimes these things actually happen. 

The game is called _what if Tony came back to life?_

It's exactly as shitty as it sounds.

But it's necessary. Say what you like about Steve -- and you can say a hell of a lot, these days -- but he's always understood necessity.

He pictures getting a phone call from -- Carol, he guesses. She's the only one left. She'd tell him that there was... magic? That the Tony he killed was an LMD? That someone had shot Tony with goddamn time bullets? That the Beyonder came back and resurrected him? That the Infinity Gauntlet never really broke, and that they stopped all the incursions and brought Tony back? The details don't matter. She'd tell him Tony was alive again. That Steve didn't really kill him. That Steve wasn't guilty.

(He's guilty.)

He imagines coming back to America, to New York, because of course Tony's in New York. Tony wouldn't possibly be anywhere else.

He imagines seeing Tony, alive again.

He can't for the life of him figure out what he'd say.

_I'm sorry_ , he wants to say. _I didn't mean it. It was an accident. I'll never hurt you again._

He wouldn't believe himself, either.

* * *

For all that he's had three years to contemplate the possibility, the actual event blindsides him.

It's not so much that it happens at all -- because, let's be honest, they've all been dead before -- but that it happens with no warning. He'd thought there'd be a phone call. He'd thought there'd be a warning. An announcement. He'd thought he'd have time to prepare. And he'd thought that Tony, quite possibly, would have decided never to see Steve again for the rest of his life.

Steve's got his keys in one hand and his grocery bag braced under his arm and he's fumbling with the lock. He's aware that there's someone on the landing behind him, someone who came in and followed him up the stairs. One of his neighbors, probably. It's a quiet place, where he lives. Peaceful. There's nothing to worry about, he tells himself. He's a little twitchy. He's always a little twitchy. They used to call it combat fatigue. It has a different name now.

"Hey, Cap."

It's the same voice Steve has heard in his dreams for three years. It's the voice that welcomed him to this century, that called him _Steve_ back when most of the world didn't know his name, that called him _Winghead_ and _Captain Handsome_ and _beloved_ , that whispered breathless encouragements to him in the dark. It's the voice that told him that the Guardsmen needed to be stopped, that the Kree Supreme Intelligence needed to die, that Steve was a sore loser. It's the voice that asked _what are we going to do about it?_

Steve can't breathe.

He turns.

The bag falls, and the groceries spill all over the floor.

Tony looks like hell. His clothes are clearly borrowed and don't quite fit him. He's gaunt. His face is scarred. His nose has been broken multiple times, like an unlucky prizefighter. His hair is a mess, too long in places, and then too short, and then really too short, like his scalp is scarred, like the skin has been grafted, and, oh, Christ, there's probably a plate in his skull. 

Steve did this to him. Tony looks like this because Steve made him look like this.

There was never a resurrection. Tony lived through all of it.

It looks like someone _else_ lied to everyone too. LMD in the grave, probably. His money's on the rest of the Illuminati.

His next thought, awful, selfish, and he hates that this is what he thinks, is: _if he's not dead, they'll pardon me and I can go home_.

(He has no home.)

(He's never been held accountable for anything.)

The thought after that is: _does he love me?_

He doesn't know what he wants the answer to that one to be.

Steve is instantly, hideously aware that his years of grieving, of quiet reflection and pondering how he could learn to be a better human being are all completely fucking worthless. He can feel everything he's been trying to hold onto slip away from under him.

He has no idea what to say.

Tony looks so-- so small and alone and hurt, and of course he looks hurt, Steve _hurt him_ \--

He thinks maybe he's going to cry.

He's going to break down, right here in this hallway, break down and break open and hand Tony his soul. Tony can go through him and rip out the pieces of him he doesn't like and give Steve the tattered remains back when he's done. No magic required. No anesthesia necessary.

_Say something_ , he wants to say. _Say something, Tony, because I can't_.

"Can we go for a walk?" Tony asks. His voice is small and thin now, just like the rest of him.

Well. That's something.

* * *

Steve walks to the beach with Tony at his side. He's horribly, agonizingly aware of how huge he is, next to Tony. He has strength and power and presence. He puts his hands in his pockets, even though he's not that cold. He slumps; he hunches his shoulders. Has he ever learned how not to be a threat?

Tony says nothing.

Something is wrong here, Steve thinks. It's not wrong in the way that his entire life has been wrong since the sky turned red and the Infinity Gauntlet shattered in his hand. He understands that particular awfulness intimately. It lives in his bones, in his blood, in his breath. This is a different kind of wrongness. Something is wrong with Tony. It's in the way he moves, the way he holds himself. Steve doesn't know what it is, but it feels somehow familiar. Like Tony's been broken like this before, broken in a different way than just the visible physical scarring. Steve can't quite remember when, or how, or why.

They exchange pleasantries. Small talk. This is wrong. Tony should be bitter and cutting. Tony should hate Steve. Tony should hate himself; that one's pretty much a goddamn universal constant. He keeps glancing over at Tony's face, and he doesn't know what he's looking for but it's _not there_.

He lights a cigarette. His hands are shaking. It will calm him. He will be calm. It will give him something to do with his hands, he thinks, the thought terrifyingly clear amidst the roar of emotion in his brain. If he has something in his hands he can't hit Tony again. Maybe it will come upon him: bloodlust, madness, anger. Maybe it will possess him, now that Tony is here.

He doesn't want to hit Tony, but he would have said he didn't _want_ to before, either.

"I'm surprised you left the States," Tony says, and what the hell? Why would he be here if he doesn't know? How did he get Steve's address and never ask anyone why it was in another country?

Something is very, very wrong.

His mouth has fallen open.

"They stripped me of citizenship," he says.

Tony just looks at him like... like it's nothing to him. Like it's a piece of information he's about to file away. Steve waits for some cutting remark. _Hey, remember that time the president took your citizenship away and you went to England? Are you going through the whole Commonwealth now?_

Tony ought to say something like that.

Tony says nothing.

So Steve talks, and he talks, and Tony's just-- he's not _there_. It's like he's not even listening, and you'd think he'd fucking want to listen if he came all this way, wouldn't you? It irks him, of course it irks him, and he can't believe that this is what he feels for Tony already. It terrifies him.

He's seen this before, he thinks. He's seen Tony like this before. Somewhere.

Maybe it's not Tony. He's not sure why someone would make an LMD of Tony looking like this, but then, he's never really been sure why SHIELD needed infinite LMDs of Dum-Dum, either. That has to be it. He's met Tony's LMDs before. They weren't quite right. Like this.

"Are you an LMD?" he asks, even as he knows an LMD isn't going to fucking tell him yes, is it, but goddammit he wants Tony to admit that something here really isn't right--

Tony blinks guileless blue eyes at him. "What's an LMD?"

Jesus fucking Christ. "That's not funny," he snaps, and he's-- God, is he yelling, is he already yelling at him? He takes a breath. "Can we just cut the bullshit? One time."

Tony puts his hand on his shoulder. "Steve, I'm not--"

Steve slaps his hand away.

Something inside Steve's head goes very calm and still and he just hit Tony, God, he just _hit Tony_. Tony's been here for under an hour and Steve _beat him to death_ and he just hit him again and Tony's not-- he's not--

This isn't how he's supposed to react.

"Don't," Steve says, and he's pretty sure he's not talking to Tony when he says it.

Tony's silent for a bit, and then he starts talking, telling him about something Carol said, but he says _Carol Danvers_ like he doesn't think Steve knows who she is, like he doesn't know who she is, and that's--

Oh.

Oh, Christ, not this.

He knows the look on Tony's face now.

He remembers the doctor, after the siege of Asgard, the doctor who had asked Steve if Tony had any backups. He remembers walking by Tony's room and seeing Tony sitting there, new RT glowing in his chest, surrounded by newspapers whose headlines proclaimed the death of Captain America. He remembers the disbelieving horror in Tony's eyes.

This is how Tony looks when he _doesn't remember_. 

"You don't remember who I am," Steve says, dully.

It turns out Tony doesn't even know who _he_ is, this time.

And God, oh God, the first thing Steve feels is rage.

Tony always gets to forget what they've done to each other. Tony gets the gift of oblivion.

Steve wants to punch him and half of him wants to be sick and the other half thinks it would be goddamn wonderful to break Tony's face open again.

It's not fair, he thinks, and he wants Tony to hurt, he wants Tony to suffer, he wants Tony to remember every goddamn minute and Tony never will. He thought he could be a better man but he can't, he can't, he's going to do it all again, he's always going to do this--

He tries to talk and starts to cry instead.

"I just want to know what happened," Tony says, and of course he fucking does.

Steve tries to tell him about the Gauntlet. About trust. And Tony doesn't understand, of course he doesn't understand, he has no fucking reference points left for their relationship, and he's looking at him like he doesn't get how a man who said _I listened to you_ can be the one who did this to him. He's looking at him like he expects them to be normal people, like he thinks he can figure out what his life was like if they just talk it out. 

Tony wants to move on. Like they did in Vanaheim.

Well, that's never happening again.

"Did you love me before you hated me?" Tony asks.

And, yep, there, there it is, poor, sad Tony, Tony who will do anything for love. Someone must have told him Steve loved him. He doesn't know who he is, but the scars of his life are in his soul, and he wants so badly for someone to love him. He always did. He doesn't remember that. He needs someone to love him.

It's not Steve anymore. He can't. He can't do this. He tried to beat Tony to death twice and Tony wants to show up and take anything he can. He's starving for affection, making a meal out of the scraps. There's nothing left in Steve's heart for him.

Steve is done.

The picture Tony hands him is bent and creased, like he kept it in his wallet. Like it was precious. From the way Tony holds it out, delicately, it's precious to him now. A reminder that someone cared, once.

In the photo, they're kissing. It's from -- five years ago, maybe? Before the SHRA. Before the team broke apart, even. When they were friends, when they were lovers, when no one knew how much they could break.

If it's in his wallet now, that means he carried it on him this whole time. He wiped Steve's mind and he lied and he kissed Steve and he fucked Steve. He met with the Illuminati as he carried around this picture. He built planetkiller bombs with this picture in his pocket. He had a fantasy to come back to, a world where they were like this.

It was never real.

He picks up his cigarette and burns himself out of the picture. It's easy.

"I fixed it for you," he says.

What Tony wants was never real.

There's nothing left.

It's not like he doesn't know what he'll do to Tony if Tony stays.

**Author's Note:**

> This story [has a Tumblr post you can like/reblog](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/140008087084/fic-breaking-point-the-abort-retry-fail-remix) if you are so inclined.
> 
> In Captain America #1, Steve throws the spy into lab equipment and it electrocutes him; when Marvels Project #5 retells Steve's origin story, it's shifted to a "he doesn't know his own strength" narrative that makes it more explicitly Steve's fault as opposed to whoops, electricity. I went with the extra-angsty version.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Breaking Point (The Abort, Retry, Fail Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336799) by [watery_weasel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watery_weasel/pseuds/watery_weasel)




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